Here's a quick reply to the latest comment before I hit the bed. Perhaps you noticed that my mentioning toward reading between the lines was about the final scene where Juno and boyfriend were singing to each other- and not the contrasts in relationships. Perhaps you'd like to take a longer time to read before commenting the next time.

I sneaked into Juno today, or rather, yesterday, since its already 1:20AM. It certainly lives up to all the Oscar, Golden Globe, Rotten Tomatoes hype. But its rather disconcerting to find that someone can be as witty as the dear Juno (it is of course, when you snap back to reality, that you realize it's probably a million people who gave super long hours of thought to this brilliant script and not a spur-of-a-moment thing as Juno acts and, yes, I know this is a really long sentence but since I've got here let's make it longer.)

Juno is not only an exploration about teen pregnancy and all its trauma. Writers and Directors have chosen to take a much softer approach to the show: we really know that Juno is going through a far bigger wave of emotions. The movie portrays the storms of her teen preg as mere brunt dialogue between her and her loved ones.

The movie also shows how life can still be as screwed up, even if you're a mature, thinking, grown-up person. The divorce of the adoptees adopters is really such a contrast to the messed up Juno. And of course we learn that love is not a fruit of time; despite the years together, the adoptees chose separation. Yet Juno found out what love truly was, within the sixteen years of life.

I might be reading too much between the lines around here but maybe the final scene is just a revelation that love is long and tedious. That we need effort to keep going, that things come and go but we still stay around each other.

Not your typical warm and fuzzy.

Half lying on the bed with the laptop on my lap, The Shins, Maroon 5 and Ingrid Michaelson playing on my eighties Sony stereos. The sun is just about to set and I'm talking to Samuel Choo on MSN. Hmm... It seems like a perfect Sunday evening and in fact, it is.

Oh my goodness, last week at this time I would have been worrying about shit I have to finish by tomorrow. Holy crap what kind of life have I been living! One of a deranged traumatized person! What is happening to my bildungsroman? It's going up in flames! Let's take some time to wallow in pretentious self-pity, I conclude that it's actually healthy. One cannot live a life like mine and not indulge in self-pity for a while.

So anyway, my TransEuropa has arrived from the US but it's still with Esther! (Wallows in self-pity again) I need to get it soon because it's such a fun game and we all need to share fun games don't we :)

I'm going early to school tomorrow! 1) To send out my laundry so the hostel laundry people can help me wash them. 2) Meet the delicious Glen to voyage to our PRSS! 3) And lastly so I can hitch a ride from the patriarch. I have such a fun life.

Inaugural SLC on Tuesday! Let's all be happy lads and lasses!

I just finished Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi. Now I know why graphic novels are so popular, the gorgeous illustrations, visual feasts. A picture paints a thousand words; saves a lot of work for the writer.

But the real flashing neon here is the increasing number of publications from Middle Eastern countries that really put a face to their nation. We've seen Khaled Hosseini and his duo of bestselling books. And Persepolis being not only a bestseller, but also an Oscar-nominated film. And then the many other movies that have made it to the various film festivals.

It's really important that we take note of them, because, I quote Satrapi, an entire nation should not be judged by the wrongdoings of a few extremists. Countries in the ME who have excruciatingly low GDPs are usually judged as terrorist countries with creepy bearded men and mysterious masked women. We haven't understood that there's a lot beneath the surface.

So yea, I'm not surprised if we're gonna see the next bestselling author from Iraq or Pakistan. Or maybe he's already somewhere there and I'm just pathetic. Both ways, we really have to be responsible with what we believe in these days.

His eyes stared intently at the mere amalgamate of light waves. His fingers nervously danced through his gelled hair, as if every strand were a choreographed masterpiece. The image looked back, this time more confident. His hands then tucked into his back pockets, and surreal motions of the ladylike blushed behind him. He ignored them and opened his mouth to sing. It was then that that voice was crushed by the arrival of the train.

Up there was meant to be the start of an essay but I thought it was more suitable as thinking space. What you're meant to think about is really anything at all. Of course the way I wrote did north a message; but the human brain has boasted variety. So comment on what you thought it was about, I'd be happy to hear from you.

Our generation is stabbed by image. Materialism and wealth, I have noticed, is a quietly exiting "so yesterday". In its place, its manifestations, is the plague of the way others see us.

The blockquote's subject matter is reflective underground MRT doors. Because of the lack of light from the other end, much of the light our corneas receive are our own reflections. They make excellent mirrors because of the size of the thing, which allows you to see yourself in entirety.

2nd March 2008. It's been three years now, goodbye old friend.